


Rain in my desert

by Caryn_B



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9628982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caryn_B/pseuds/Caryn_B
Summary: While Luke was away on assignment Han was busy walking into doors and attracting strange looks. He definitely wasn’t his normal self, but if Han thought Luke’s return would put him back on track, he couldn’t have been further from the truth. All Han's introspection had given him the answers, but one big question remained.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a light-hearted, 'non-serious' story that rambles on and doesn't really go anywhere, plot-wise. Finished in 2016 for the WIP Big Bang on Livejournal.

"General Solo, your input might be helpful here."

Han dragged his gaze away from the smooth, characterless surface of the table and smothered his irritation at the interruption to his thoughts. General Madine's tone was mild, but the undercurrent of exasperation was obvious enough. A quick glance around the assembled group told him they'd all noticed it too. 

Across from him, Leia raised her eyebrows. Not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but the gesture relayed a distinct message to Han. It was partly a query – _whatever's the matter?_ But it was mainly advice – _pay attention!_

He summoned an apologetic smile for Leia and raised a hand to everyone else. "Sorry. Been a long day." It was a spur-of-the-moment excuse that was unlikely to engender any sympathy – everyone in the room endured long days as a matter of routine – but he could hardly touch on the truth. 

General Madine cleared his throat. "Yes, well, as soon as Skywalker gets here we can start to wrap things up."

 _Skywalker._ The reaction was involuntary, homing in on him when he least expected it. Had it got to the stage where he couldn't even hear Luke's name any more in the most innocent of circumstances? 

"He's gonna join us?" Han meant to make his question sound off-hand, as though the prospect was neither one thing nor the other to him. Instead, the words tumbled out in a rush, accentuating, rather than hiding, a note of something like alarm.

He'd been acquiring concerned looks from others for several days, and the occupants of the conference room had just joined his lengthening list. He knew Leia was studying him, her brow creased in an exasperated frown, but he willed himself not to look.

"That's the plan," Madine answered. 

"If he makes it back from Sar'kina in time," Mon Mothma added.

"He's already back. He logged in just before I set off for this meeting," Admiral Ackbar confirmed, barbels quivering with evident satisfaction.

Han let the conversation flow on around him, only half listening. A momentary diversion was all he needed lately to allow his thoughts to wander.

He'd had this problem for three standard weeks and twelve hours, covering the exact length of time Luke had been away, and it wasn't showing any signs of easing. He'd be walking along, mind on his next task, and all of a sudden the feeling would assail him. Anything could trigger it. The sight of someone dressed in black. A flash of blue eyes from a total stranger. The metallic dome of an R2 unit. None of them anything to do with Luke, but he'd have to stop mid stride, grab something for support and breathe his way through it. 

Simple recollection in public was hazardous, but it was just possible to keep himself in check. He didn't know how he was going to get through the rest of the meeting with Luke's actual living, breathing presence. He imagined himself reaching out across the table. Grabbing a handful of Luke's tunic and dragging him bodily from the room. All the way to his bed.

"Han?"

Han forced himself to meet Leia's gaze, full of questioning curiosity over Han's distracted behavior. "Yeah, sorry – I missed that," he said.

"I was saying that Luke has a good suggestion concerning our approach to the Nagai. After all, they have just as big a stake in the outcome as we do," Leia explained, her tone one of exaggerated patience.

"Sure, but they ain't been co-operative so far."

"Not with us, but if Luke talks to them directly he might have a chance. They're much more likely to listen to a Jedi, and you know how it is with Luke. He has a talent for gaining co-operation."

Never a truer word was spoken, Han agreed, privately. But Leia had no idea just how extensive that talent was, nor how many diverse methods her brother had for–

"General?"

Madine again. Would the man never leave him alone? Han grabbed hold of his datapad, twisted it around in his hands. It helped, just a little, to deflect his thoughts from their inevitable direction.

"Yeah, I'm with you – just got a headache." It was another fabrication, but Han figured this one was almost true. His head didn't ache in the least, but it ought to since every other part of his body did. It had got to him that way. Luke deprivation. Those with no real understanding of Han's situation would've probably dismissed it as lust. Just a few weeks ago, Han might even have included himself amongst those detractors, but he knew better now, and it was nowhere near that straightforward. 

Although on the surface, he conceded, it _was_ straightforward. His feelings for Luke were, by themselves, enough of an excuse for erratic behavior. And he knew how he felt. He'd known since the day, five weeks ago, when he'd woken up with the sun in his eyes and a memory in his head that wouldn't recede. And Han had held it together, knowing what he did, for another two weeks, until the morning Luke had left for Sar'kina. That was when the trouble had started. Because it was then that he'd realized his feelings alone weren't the real issue; it was where he wanted to take those feelings that posed his biggest problem–

"Perhaps you'd like me to call a 2-1B?" 

"No need for that," Han said. And really, he thought, Madine could be a sarcastic pain in the ass when he chose to be. 

General Madine raised a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. "Very well. As I was saying – it might be an idea for Skywalker to go in with your advance party. We don't want any X-wings landing before the other squadrons arrive. You're taking a Wayfarer-class transport aren't you? How many in your team?"

"A Wayfarer, yeah," Han said, renewing his intention to concentrate on work. "I'm gonna take seven. It'll be a team of nine with me 'n Chewie, but Chewie's stayin' with the ship. I want someone there at all times ready to blast off at a moment's notice." He laid his datapad back on the table. "We'll put down in Phelar and go our separate ways. Get rooms around the port. We'll spread out of course. Turn up at different times of the day, but the place's so busy no-one's gonna notice us or link us together."

"And you'll rendezvous the same night?"

"No. It's better to wait a day or two. Get a feel for the place. Get some proper sleep – it's a long trip out there. I want the team to be alert."

 _Sleep_. Han had managed very little of it over the past three weeks. Every time he'd begun to drift off, his undisciplined mind had insisted on replaying scenes behind his closed eyelids ... _the frown of concentration on Luke's face and the gleam of sweat in the hollow of his throat. His immunity to all Han's expletives..._ Han had ended up wide awake again, aching and hard with recollection and need. 

"I assume you'll have a pre-arranged meeting point?"

"Uh... that's the idea. I haven't picked the final team yet, but as soon as I do we'll go through the details. I was kinda hoping to talk to Wedge, 'cause Rogue Squadron's gonna handle the atmosphere watch. We know there are TIEs stashed away on Eriadu. Don't want 'em creepin' up on us when we least expect 'em."

"That's tomorrow's meeting," Madine said. "Admiral Ackbar's sorting timings out with Antilles." The General turned to Ackbar. "Does that still suit you Admiral? Tomorrow afternoon?"

"I've scheduled all non-essential flight runs to end at noon, so the teams will be free for a meeting," Ackbar's gravelly tone confirmed. 

"Well, perhaps you wish to run through your proposals for managing the sub-space offensive, whilst we're waiting for Skywalker?" Madine suggested. "It'll save time in tomorrow's meeting."

Admiral Ackbar propelled his chair away from the table and held out a webbed hand. "General, if you'd be kind enough to pass me the holoprojector control, I'll give you all a brief summary."

Han leaned back in his chair, grateful that all attention was now off him for the next few minutes. Ackbar was known to ramble on, but because everyone – and he included Madine in that – had a soft spot for the Admiral, nobody would try to cut him off or get him to be more succinct. And that suited Han just fine, because it gave him time to try and get his head back together, ready for the moment Luke walked in through the doors. 

"Sorry I'm late!" The doors hissed to a close behind Luke. 

Or it gave him no time at all. Han didn't move. Forced himself not to react, at least visibly, to the jolt of electricity that crackled down his spine, and the instinctive flash of heat that made his stomach clench. He remained in the same, relaxed-looking position in his chair. Legs stretched out nonchalantly beneath the table and hands behind his head. Inside, he felt changed already, but it was so much more than a physical awareness, potent though that was. It was as if something displaced had just returned to where it belonged. And as if everything else had subtly altered. The early evening sun now looked mellow rather than unrelentingly harsh, and the endless cityscape viewed from the tower windows seemed less claustrophobic. Even General Madine appeared slightly more jovial. 

Han watched Luke smile at Ackbar with his customary affection, then hurry to the empty chair beside Leia, almost opposite Han. He exchanged another quick smile with Leia and cordially acknowledged both Mon Mothma and Madine, before pulling his chair up to the table. He did all this with his usual economy of movement, and Han pondered, as he often did, how it was that Luke made even the most mundane of actions seem so compelling. There was a contained power in everything Luke did, and it was one of the reasons he came across the way that he did. It was a contradiction of sorts. He appeared consistently calm and composed, yet at the same time gave the impression of a tightly-wound spring, just waiting to uncoil into frenetic activity.

The contradiction was there now, and it was as though the heat from all Luke's latent energy had found a way to flare up inside Han, and his endeavors to remain unruffled were all-of-a-sudden that much harder. More so when Luke did what Han knew he was guaranteed to do. He looked across at Han.

"Han," he said, with a small nod in Han's direction. Han had to give him credit for it. It was perfect. Just the right amount of casual friendliness and warmth to appear completely normal.

"Luke," Han returned. It was a shame he couldn't give himself any credit. His voice came across clipped, and his tone too terse not to attract attention. Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of surprise. Everyone except Luke. He knew, of course.

He could tell by Leia's expression that she thought they'd fallen out, despite not having seen each other for three weeks. She rolled her eyes a little at him, but said nothing. Han knew it was just a matter of time. 

"I trust you had a good flight back?" Madine asked Luke. "No trouble along the way?"

"No, just a straightforward trip," Luke confirmed. 

He didn't add 'for a change', so Han said it for him, the words gruff and automatic. Everyone ignored him.

"It's good to see you," Mon Mothma said, addressing Luke. "You look well – the break's clearly done you good." 

Han's immediate thought was that maybe she'd injected a little more warmth than necessary into her greeting to make up for Han's perceived unfriendliness. The tiny twinge of unease that followed it chased that thought away and replaced it with another. That if Mon Mothma's words contained an element of truth, then Han would be forced to question from what, in particular, Luke had needed a break.

"That may be the case," Leia put in, preempting any response from Luke that might've set Han's mind at rest. She turned her head to look at Luke. "I'm just glad you're back, because maybe you can sort Han out."

"What're you talkin' about?" Han had tried to convey only mild indignation, but judging by the glance Luke shot him, which was far too close to being amused, he'd probably failed.

"Why, what's wrong with him?" Luke asked.

"I assumed you'd know, as it seems to be something to do with you," Leia replied.

"Really?" Luke's tone hit the precise balance between mild curiosity and vague puzzlement. 

"Well, he's been as grouchy as a Wookiee the whole time you've been away–"

"Hey! I–"

Leia continued to talk over Han's exclamation. "Not to mention acting downright strange most of the time." She leveled a newly curious, scrutinizing glance at Han. 

"Doesn't sound all that different from usual," Luke said. He turned his attention back to Han, his gaze anchoring Han in place when he was just about to sit up to remonstrate. "But I'll see what I can do. That is, if Han thinks he _needs_ sorting out..."

Silenced again, but this time because he had no choice. Whereas Luke hadn't missed a beat in the face of Leia's too-perspicacious remarks, Han knew that his usual aplomb had deserted him, buried under a barrage of mental imagery that did nothing to ease his predicament.

He was spared further discomfort by the sudden movement of General Madine, pushing his chair back from the table in a noticeable show of frustration. Han thought, for a moment, that Madine was about to get up and walk out, but his chair came to an equally abrupt halt.

Mom Mothma glanced at the General and spoke hurriedly, bringing the meeting back on track. "We've heard good things about your visit, Luke."

Luke smiled at her. "It seemed to go well. We'll know for sure in a couple of days, if their planned visit here goes ahead."

"Oh, I've every confidence it'll happen. The Sar'kinan Governing Council seemed much taken with you."

"I think they were more taken with the deal you put together. They've wanted that sort of protection for years."

"But they didn't trust us enough before you went there," Mon Mothma insisted. She looked at Leia. "Maybe more worlds will follow their lead now?"

"When word gets around that we're serious about the safeguards we can offer, that might happen," Leia said.

Mon Mothma nodded. "In a perfect galaxy it'd be ideal if Luke could visit every one of those worlds." 

"Except he barely has time to visit even one."

"Yes, I know he has many demands placed on him."

"Worlds with a past allegiance to the Jedi might be the ones to concentrate on. If Luke–"

"Y'know, you could always ask him directly, seein' as he's sat right next to you," Han interrupted Leia, not bothering to mask the note of irritation in his voice. People were always doing that to _him_ – carrying on conversations around him over what he might or might not want to do in any given circumstances, and it was aggravating enough by itself. But Han thought maybe he was reacting just as much to the idea of Luke spending every day of the foreseeable future trailing from planet to planet gathering alliances on behalf of Mon Mothma and Leia, and Han hardly ever seeing him. Even if all those breaks _were_ going to do Luke good.

"I know that," Leia replied, "and Luke knows we'd never try to organize what he does without asking him first! I really don't know what's got into you!"

"I already told you, I've got a headache!"

"So get a pain shot!" Leia snapped.

Once again, Luke looked over at Han, his gaze unreadable. "If you can wait until after the meeting, I know some alternative ways to get rid of a headache. Better than shots."

"I'm sure you do." Han kept his tone as expressionless as possible, a feat requiring more effort than should've been necessary. Given that Luke's words, delivered in a manner that ostensibly conveyed only innocuous concern, had managed to rearrange his insides, Han considered it miraculous that he'd managed to speak at all.

"Ah, Luke," Mon Mothma said, with a small sigh. "Maybe sometime I could prevail on you to do the same for me? I find a large glass of Cortyg brandy does wonders, but the medical droids take issue with me over that one."

"More of a headache inducer than a reliever, I'd have thought," Ackbar pointed out. 

"Yes, it's a bit of a vicious circle," Mon Mothma replied. "Perhaps the Cortyg _is_ rather rough. I suppose I should go back to the Chandrilan specialties, though I hear Savareen is very smooth–"

Madine coughed, and heads turned towards him. Han wondered how it was possible for someone to make even a cough sound sardonic. "Perhaps we could save this particular subject for later, and get on with the meeting?" the General suggested, his tone dangerously smooth. "Would the Admiral care to continue with his outline?" 

There were murmurs of apologetic assent around the table, and all eyes swiveled to look at Ackbar's projected plans. Han's also started that way, but it was difficult to maintain serious contemplation of battleships and their potential tactical formations when there was something much better to look at. He did it surreptitiously, taking care to check that everyone's attention was elsewhere.

For such an unpredictable person, Han decided, Luke's appearance could be very predictable, depending on the time of day. It was another of those contradictions Han was so fond of spotting. Luke usually started the day looking immaculately neat – the quintessential picture of a Jedi at peace with himself and the galaxy. But whereas Luke could produce the look, he seemed unable to maintain it, and out-of-place hair and rumpled clothing always took over from the neatness. It wasn't unusual, at the end of the day, to find Luke covered in mud, or dust, or engine oil, or – less frequently, but entirely possible – blood. And that included days when he hadn't had to fight anyone. 

And then there were the nights...

Luke owned very little, and so the spaces he occupied were orderly and uncluttered. Luke himself followed the same philosophy most of the time. But not _all_ the time, and definitely not during any of the nights he spent with Han. On those occasions, it was as though Luke decided that whatever room they were in was far too tidy, and his clothes still too presentable. Because he didn't take them off carefully. He wrenched them off, not always one thing at a time, and threw them on the floor. He did the same thing with Han's clothes. 

Once, Han had gone around collecting up various items of clothing that Luke had removed from them both a few hours earlier. There hadn't been a single item in the same place. Everything had been scattered about, flung to all corners of the room, inside out and tangled up. 

It had taken him an extra five minutes of searching to find his comlink, and when he had he'd discovered it was activated, broadcasting every sound in the room over the past few hours to Chewie. Han had threatened the Wookiee with a very slow and very painful death if anything he'd overheard ever leaked out anywhere on the base. Chewbacca had claimed he hadn't listened to a thing, but Han had known that wasn't true after he'd made some pointed remark about Han not being able to string two words together. Considering what Luke had done to him that night, Han thought he'd done well to produce any words at all.

Now, Luke's appearance was in its middle phase, Han noticed, even though he'd evidently gone straight from his ship into the shower. But because of the rush to make the meeting, it looked like he hadn't had time to comb his hair, or even fasten his tunic up straight. 

And, headache comments and pointed remarks aside, Luke looked comparatively harmless. Calm and contained, listening patiently to Admiral Ackbar talk about wall formations and battle-spread ambushes. No-one would guess, just by looking at him, what lay beneath that innocent-looking surface. 

"...of course, there's a chance that something will get through," Ackbar was saying. "If that happens, Commander Antilles and his team will be ready, alongside Captain Telsij's Gray Squadron, but I'm wondering if Gold Squadron might go along as well."

"It's a pity the Falcon can't be there, but I'm not gonna risk takin' her into Phelar in advance. She's too recognizable," Han said. It was more an attempt to look like he was paying attention than a real contribution, but his remark had some merit nevertheless. The Falcon _had_ played a part in most of their key victories.

"Hmmm. I agree," Ackbar said. "Unless there's someone else available who can fly her on the day?"

Han shook his head. "Apart from me 'n Chewie, and Luke 'n Leia, Lando's the only one with enough experience, and he's on the other side of the galaxy. She's just got too many modifications to handle right unless you're used to her."

"Is Chewie going on ahead with you then?" Luke asked.

"That's the idea. He's gonna stay with the Wayfarer in case the ship needs to make a quick getaway." 

"What about taking Zytyna instead?" Luke asked. "She was a major help at Duro. Then Chewie could take the Falcon in as part of Admiral Ackbar's fleet."

"Hmm, I dunno. She got injured in that raid a couple of weeks ago. If she's back in action by the time we leave, it might work. Course I'd have to talk to Chewie..."

Luke gave him a smile tinged with the private knowledge of Han and Chewbacca's latest long-running argument. "It's been six months since Kuat. He might be okay about it."

"Yeah. We'll see," Han said, dubiously. Han's injury at Kuat was a source of contention between him and Chewbacca, simply because Han had made the decision to go in alone and without arranging a backup plan with his friend. To say that Chewie had been irate was the understatement of the decade.

"Well, if there's a way for you to organize it, I'd be delighted to have the Falcon along," Ackbar said.

"And if Chewbacca's going to take her in, he'll need to attend tomorrow's meeting," Madine added.

"Got it," Han said. 

"So, to go back to my defensive strategy," Ackbar continued, "I'm suggesting a line of A-wings ..."

In many ways it was a good thing that the Admiral had decided to continue with his outline, because it made it easier to look away from Luke. Especially as the whole time they'd been talking, Luke had kept his gaze on Han with just enough intensity to be obvious to Han whilst being unnoticeable to anyone else. There'd been a focused intimacy about it, and it'd drawn Han in just far enough for him to have almost tuned out the other occupants of the conference room. 

It also struck Han just how strange the situation would seem to those seated around him, had they been in the know. That the Han Solo they saw, overtly confident to the point of arrogance, expert at winding others up and as thick-skinned as a bantha, should be so thrown by Luke's presence and his lighthearted provocation. Before Luke's assignment on Sar'kina, it would've surprised Han too. Usually, he was more than capable of giving back, in equal measure, anything Luke could throw at him. But before Sar'kina, Han hadn't experienced the startling insight that had halted him in his tracks the morning of Luke's departure, automatic denial battling it out with new-found certainty. It had changed everything – and there was no denying that. 

"... the B-wings can fill in any gaps that arise, and we can utilize their proton torpedoes as a first resort ..."

As Ackbar expounded on his plans at ever-increasing length, Han pushed that thought aside, because the only place it could lead was nowhere. He'd had plenty of time to recognize that, whilst Luke was away. And, with the exception of one ill-advised and perplexing trip to an anonymity-guaranteed stall deep in Coruscant's trading levels, Han had done pretty well. Even if the compact package that he'd purchased there threatened to give him away by its ongoing presence in his jacket pocket. Han pushed the thought of that aside too – there were plenty of other things to occupy his mind. 

Such as how everything that had ever happened between him and Luke seemed to take the form of revelations. Some small, and others life-changing. It had been like that from the day they'd met in Mos Eisley – the first revelation being the surprising discovery of how badly the Empire wanted his paying passengers. 

But all that was in the past. It was much newer revelations that occupied Han's mind these days. For one, there was the contrast between the Luke the galaxy saw, and the Luke Han saw in private. The other occupants of the conference room – apart from Leia – mostly saw Luke's public face. Quiet, collected, and very slightly detached. Patient, reasonable and level-headed. Of course, Luke was all of those things much of the time, but they were far from the full picture. Because if anyone believed that Luke had lost his reckless, impetuous nature, then they'd clearly never been to bed with him. A fact that Han was very glad of, but even so, he couldn't help feeling sorry for all those who'd missed out.

Because Luke shed that persona like he shed his clothes, and there was nothing quiet, detached or level-headed about him then. He could also be incredibly impatient. It was never a selfish impatience, because Luke did anything and everything to make things good for Han and he didn't care how long it took. But when the roles were reversed, it was a different matter. Every time Han attempted to take his time driving Luke into a state of incoherence, Luke started urging Han on, and Han was utterly unable to resist his demands. He invariably ended up frantically pounding Luke into the mattress in the way that Luke seemed to want.

It was incredibly, startlingly good. It was also exhausting, because while Luke had, to all intents and purposes, unlimited reserves of stamina, Han habitually ended up collapsing on top of him, unable to move and wondering if his heart might pound its way out of his chest. Afterwards, it always took him some time to work out which of his limbs was which, because none of them seemed to respond to orders from his befuddled brain.

He realized with a jolt that Ackbar had finished his presentation, because everyone had started shifting around and looking at things other than the holoprojector images. Luke was looking at him, and Han was forced to revise his opinion on the harmlessness of Luke's current demeanor. It was a look devoid of any obvious intent, but he held Han's eyes for several seconds too long, and then, hidden beneath the table, he stroked Han's outstretched leg with a booted foot. 

Han sat up hurriedly, knocking his datapad with his elbow and sending it spinning across the table. Luke caught it just before it plummeted to the floor, and pushed it back towards Han. The smile on his face looked benign, but Han knew better.

"Thanks." Han's response was as short and curt as his initial greeting, and once again he caught Leia's irritated glance out of the corner of his eye. Han thought that if she knew what was going on, she'd realize how lucky it was that he'd managed to say anything at all, considering he had to sit still and breathe at the same time.

"Thank you Admiral." There was a distinct heaviness to Madine's tone, but everyone around the table knew it wasn't directed at Ackbar. The thought was confirmed by his next words. "General Solo, are you feeling up to listening to what Master Skywalker has to say?"

Han glanced at Luke, an automatic knee-jerk reaction, but Luke's expression was the epitome of inscrutability. They both knew that Han was always up to listening to Luke. There were times when he liked nothing better, especially when Luke was being particularly vocal. A lightning-fast fantasy flashed through his mind. Of dragging Luke onto the table. Tearing his clothes off in a Luke-like manner and listening to Luke's self-control begin to disintegrate. He swallowed to ease the sudden dryness in his throat, knowing it would be a mistake to think further. "Be my guest," he said to Luke. 

Luke used that same smile again, and Han's pulse-rate stepped up another notch. "I'll try not to take too long," Luke said, addressing the whole group. "For Han's sake."

Han knew he'd done it deliberately. As direct a reference to their last night together as it was possible to get in a room full of Alliance top brass. And nobody was any the wiser, because it was Luke who was skating on thin ice and not Han. And Luke could stomp on the thinnest ice possible and leave it intact. The only thing likely to break would be Han's increasingly fragile poise.

"No need to hold back on my account," Han said. He knew by Luke's expression that the relaxed grin he'd tried for had come out looking like a scowl, but it wouldn't have made any difference anyway. It seemed Luke knew him inside out these days, and not a single aspect of Han's feigned casualness would've fooled him for even a second. 

At the end of the table, Madine shifted again in his chair. He had the air of a man starting to lose patience, and Han could see it from his point of view. He was trying to organize a crucial assignment to a key outer rim world, and his usually reliable and focused colleagues kept going off on a tangent into discussions on headaches and brandy, or airing what must seem like minor grievances. Han resolved, yet again, to concentrate on the task in hand.

It should have been easy, having a valid reason for keeping his eyes on Luke and listening to him outline his suggestions for involving the Nagai. But casually watching someone as they spoke wasn't the same thing as staring at someone and wondering how they managed to look so good after a twelve-hour hyperspace hop. And that was in spite of the tousled hair and misaligned fasteners on his tunic. Or maybe it was because of them – fastened up in such a distracting manner, they gave Han no choice but to imagine undoing them. Either way, as Han could only manage to stare, studying the table again was the safer option.

He started off listening, but when the discussion veered off into the tedious ins and outs of galactic diplomacy, Han's thoughts strayed away again.

With hindsight, it was inevitable that he'd got together with Luke eventually. The _something_ that'd been between them since the day they'd met had grown too obvious and too consuming to be ignored. It'd had to find an outlet somewhere, and they'd found it, six weeks ago, in bed together. It had happened during a blazing row, which had been unusual enough by itself. Luke's careful hold on his previous, wilder emotions meant their arguments habitually took the form of calm reasoning – at least from Luke. Han couldn't even recall the nature of the argument. All he remembered was that Luke, with no warning whatsoever, had walked across the room and kissed him. Han had shoved Luke down on the bed and kissed him back.

And Han had discovered sex. Not the sort he'd had before, of course. He'd had plenty of that, and oftentimes it had been good, and sometimes even very good. But he'd never experienced anything quite like what he had with Luke, and he'd never before had anyone crawl under his skin and take over his life in such a way. It had been another revelation.

Han wasn't sure that Luke realized just what he'd done, and how deeply Han had re-evaluated everything he'd once thought he wanted. It wasn't the first time he'd done that, but Han concluded that it'd been a cumulative process for him, and one that had started with meeting Luke in the first place. 

But the change in their relationship was something very private. Other than Chewbacca, nobody else knew there was anything between them beyond their unwavering friendship. It wasn't that they'd actively chosen to hide it – it'd just happened that way through an unspoken, mutual agreement which, at the time, had felt right for Han. Even now, after all the private complications Han had created for himself, he conceded that postponing the moment of the inevitable HoloNews broadcast had its attractions...

"... you thought perhaps General Solo, with all his experience of such types, might be a good person to accompany you?" Madine asked.

Hearing his name mentioned dragged Han back to the meeting. The General and Luke were both looking at him; Madine with an air of expectancy, Luke with a level of attention too perceptive for comfort.

"Right," Han said. "Um... experience of what types?"

Luke answered quickly, probably in an attempt to forestall a scathing remark from General Madine. "The Aqualish who might have some information for me has links with a Perlemian Route smuggling ring. They operate from Coruscant's 563rd level."

"Ah, _those_ types."

"Well, you do have a prior connection to that lifestyle, General," Madine put in. Han detected the slight emphasis placed on the 'General', and it clearly wasn't meant to be complimentary.

"Han's background is very varied," Leia put in. "All of it's been extremely valuable to the Alliance so far, and we're lucky to have someone with his range of experience." There was a distinctly protective tone to her voice. 

Han grinned at her, even though Madine's attempts to rankle him simply amused him. He wasn't sure what it was he was supposed to be volunteering for, but it was likely to involve danger, difficulty and discomfort if it formed part of Luke's plans. He shrugged. "Sure, I'll do it. I'm up for anything."

"That's good to know," Luke said. He held Han's eyes once again for a moment too long, even though his expression gave nothing away. Han shifted restively in his chair and wondered how much longer they'd have to stay there.

"So, assuming Skywalker gets the information he's expecting, we need to work on the wording of the guarantees we can offer them. More Mon Mothma's field of expertise than mine," Madine said, addressing the entire group.

Mon Mothma rolled her chair closer to the table. "I thought we should start with this: If the Nagai sign an agreement ..."

Han sighed as unobtrusively as possible, his mind instantly roaming to other, more interesting areas of thought. He tried to keep one ear on the surrounding talk, on the off-chance his name was brought into it again, but – like everything else these past weeks – it was more difficult than it should've been.

For the first three weeks since going to bed with Luke, Han had managed to keep his private life and his Alliance duties more-or-less separate. It hadn't been possible to isolate them completely, of course, because Luke was always there, in one way or another, at the back of his mind. Luke and the assignments Han undertook for the Alliance were inextricably linked, even though the causes of the Rebellion were ones Han had taken more easily to heart that he'd ever conceded in public. It was still the case that, without Luke, Han wouldn't have been with the Rebellion – or the ensuing Galactic Alliance – in the first place, and the concept of 'duties' would've been something very different. For that reason, Han hadn't seen it as a problem if his mind occasionally wandered.

But these last three weeks had been a different story, and one that wasn't entirely due to Luke's absence on assignment. It wasn't entirely due to his feelings for Luke either, because Han was confident he'd got those under control, despite his initial shock at their discovery. He cast his mind back to that particular morning, a few days after he and Luke had got together, when he'd woken up with the sun streaming relentlessly through the viewscreen of his room. Apart from the fact that he'd forgotten to close his shutters the previous night, there'd been nothing to warn him that he was about make another startling discovery – this time about himself.

It had happened before he'd even opened his eyes. For whatever reason, his waking thoughts had fixated on an evening of down time spent in the rec room several weeks back. The off-duty pilots had spent it teasing a fellow Rogue – newly caught up in a relationship with a Green Squadron pilot – for spending half his time staring into space and the rest of it watching the Y-wing landing pads for Green Four to return from flight duty. Wes had hummed a tune from a Tanaabian wedding dance, and Wedge had grinned, telling them to back off the poor guy, because "he can't help it, he's head over heels in love." Han had joined in the banter, believing himself too old and too jaded to ever succumb to similar craziness.

Lying there that morning, there'd been no need to think any further. Han had simply opened his eyes and gazed blankly at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Of course he'd known before that he loved Luke, and had done for years, but he'd always assumed it to be a steady, dependable type of love. The type that existed between very close friends. But in scrutinizing it further, he'd acknowledged that it was also the type that had led him to take the most outrageous risks, and had driven him mad with distraction sometimes, and had caused him to change the course of his entire life. And it had resulted in the stormy, uninhibited and eye-opening sex they'd had the first time they went to bed together. 

So yes, he'd been fooling himself, and it had taken him several minutes of staring at his reflection in the 'fresher mirror before he'd been able to tell himself that it made no difference. After all, he'd reasoned, if he'd always subconsciously felt that way then it meant nothing had changed. He'd calculated that as long as he was able to keep his head together he'd be fine, and no-one would be any the wiser.

It had worked up to a point, but, as Han now recognized, trying to keep a lid on something to stop it boiling over was rarely successful. After all his diligence, it seemed that all he'd needed was a catalyst to tip him from rational to ridiculous. And the catalyst was a direct consequence of his own curiosity.

Before he'd met Luke, Han had never given a moment's serious thought to the Force. As far as he'd been concerned, it was likely a myth, occasionally mentioned by those of older generations misremembering the past – an opinion he'd restated when Luke and Ben Kenobi came aboard the Falcon. Even when Luke had started to demonstrate strange, unaccountable abilities he'd still never given it much thought, despite the subtle revisions in his own attitude. His encounter with Vader had added further weight to Han's concession that the Force existed, but it'd still left him unprepared for the shock of full realization that had hit him on Jabba's execution skiff. And yes, it had been a further revelation.

Believing in it was one thing, but approval had been harder to achieve for Han. Because the Force was right there at the root of all the changes he'd seen in Luke, and all the traumas that Luke had endured. Han had wanted Luke safe, yet whilst the Force offered security, it had threatened it in equal measure. It'd kept Luke alive, but it'd also nearly killed him. Of course, it'd also kept Han alive, along with too many others to mention, but – in Han's view – that was down to Luke's personal strength and nature and the way he'd chosen to use that power.

Han thought that maybe his route towards coming to terms with it completely had followed a parallel path to Luke's, even though the things they'd each needed to resolve had been different. There'd never been a trust issue between them, but where Han had looked for reassurance that the Force and Luke's Jedi heritage weren't threats to his friend, Luke had looked for reassurance that he himself wasn't a threat.

Now, the interaction between Luke and the Force didn't concern Han, but it did intrigue him. And sometimes he'd wondered at what point deliberate use of the Force began and ended, or if there even was a clear dividing line. Han thought that anyone who'd ever had sex with a Jedi must've wondered the same thing. After all, Luke had demonstrated an increasing level of stamina and endurance in every aspect of his life since he'd first learned to access the Force, so Han didn't see why sex should be any different. But when he'd broached the subject with him, Luke had reacted with bemusement.

It had been their last day together before Luke had left for Sar'kina. A rare, free afternoon had stretched into a lazy early evening. Sated and too soporific to move, Han had been lying in bed, flat on his back with his head on a pile of pillows, when his thoughts had turned to the Force and his many unanswered questions. The thoughts had been idle, interspersed with lazily watching images from Sar'kina flicker in the air. Luke had propped his datapad up on Han's chest, and, supported by one elbow and with one leg hooked over one of Han's calves, he'd been familiarizing himself with the recent history of the planet he was due to visit.

Han wasn't sure if he'd intended to voice his thoughts aloud, but somehow the words had slipped out. Luke had sat up, his research forgotten and his expression a mixture of bewilderment and surprise. "I'd never use the Force like that, without you knowing. I assumed you'd know that!"

"Sure I know that, but that's not what I mean."

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"I'm not talkin' about using it deliberately," Han had said. "It's part of you ain't it? It's not like you can just switch it off."

"No... but there's a big difference in it just being there, and actively using it to make a difference."

"Yeah, I get that," Han had said. "All I'm sayin' is, you're a Jedi. It's gotta have some effect."

"I don't know," Luke had admitted. "Most of the time I don't think about it." He'd studied Han's face for a moment or two. "Does it bother you?"

"No! You're gettin' the wrong idea. I'm just askin', okay?"

"Okay," Luke had said, slowly. "But I need to know you really believe it."

"Believe what?"

"That I wouldn't use the Force that way." Luke had paused, a frown creasing his brow. "Without your consent."

Startled, Han had started to sit up, but abandoned the attempt when he felt the weight of Luke's datapad still in place on his chest. "I never thought you were using it on me like that! That's not what I was sayin' at all!"

Luke had reached for the datapad and powered it down before moving it out of the way. "So you do believe me then?"

"You reckon I don't know you well enough by now? Of course I believe you!" 

It could have been a natural end to the conversation, but Luke's need for assurance had filled Han's head with new thoughts and even more curiosity, and he hadn't been able to let the subject go. "I'm just wonderin' though," he'd asked, "how would it even work? Using it on someone else? I mean, in a good way."

Luke had trailed his hand across Han's chest, letting the short hairs there curl around his fingers. He'd looked simultaneously amused and disapproving. "I guess it would depend on the person, but how would manipulating someone else ever be good?"

"I'm talkin' about if the other person knew about it beforehand. It wouldn't be manipulation then would it?"

"Maybe not obviously. Why are you asking anyway?"

"Just curious."

Luke had obviously heard something more in Han's tone because he'd pulled back to look him fully in the face. "How curious?"

Han had shrugged. "I dunno. How about... very curious?"

There'd been a few seconds of total silence. "You're asking me to try using the Force on you?" Luke's voice had been full of incredulity.

"Why not?"

"I can think of a million reasons why not. How many d'you wanna hear?"

"Well, you can forget about the 999,998 that are down to you bein' paranoid. By my reckoning that leaves two."

"So now you're an expert in the appropriate use of the Force?"

"Yeah, I'm multi-talented," he'd grinned. "But you know that already."

"Not least, you'd have to let me." A more dubious note had taken over from the incredulity.

"I'm the one askin' ain't I? Wouldn't be much point if I wasn't gonna let you. Anyway, I'm not talkin' major life-changing stuff, like turnin' me into a Hutt or something." 

Luke had raised his eyebrows. "That wouldn't've been my first thought. Besides, that's probably a bit beyond me."

"So – you'll do it?"

"I don't know, Han..."

"Listen – I trust you. I know you're not gonna mess me around or harm me. Well, 'cept for your fingernails – they've been known to do some damage."

"You're an idiot," Luke had grinned.

"Not a very original insult, Skywalker."

"I'm out of originality."

Han had thrown him a long, lascivious grin. "That'd be a first."

After a few moments, Luke's expression had turned serious again. "What if you didn't like it?"

"Then I'd just say so, wouldn't I?" He'd caught Luke's hand and kissed the palm. "But if you don't wanna do it that's fine. It's all good to me." 

That'd been the last time they'd mentioned it. Luke, his stomach rumbling, had dragged Han into the shower so they could go out and eat. When they'd returned to Luke's room, ostensibly so Luke could get enough sleep before the flight to Sar'kina, Han had put their earlier conversation to the back of his mind. Even after Luke had done his usual trick of throwing their clothes all around the room, Han hadn't recalled what he'd asked for. It was only after Luke had pushed inside him, and Han had started to swear, that he'd remembered. And then he'd realized that his curiosity was going to be well and truly addressed...

"You'll have to talk to General Solo about that," Madine said, his voice slightly louder than normal. 

Dragged back to the present day from his too-absorbing thoughts, Han nodded, as though he'd heard every word of the preceding conversation. So much for keeping one ear tuned to the meeting. "We can discuss that later," he said. "No need to take anyone else's time up." It was a vague enough answer to cover all sorts of possibilities.

"Okay," Luke said, and there was the subtlest hint of amusement in his voice. "But there'll be room for me will there?"

"Sure."

"That's settled then," Madine said. "I'll leave you and Skywalker to sort that out between you. Let me know what you've decided by tomorrow's meeting."

"Absolutely," Han confirmed. He avoided looking in Luke's direction.

"That leaves the wording of the agreement." Madine directed his gaze towards Mon Mothma. "Ma'am, I believe you have the initial draft?"

Han could almost hear the collective inward groan of the room's occupants. Far from the meeting approaching a close, it now threatened to drag on for another hour. Or two. Or three. The pronounced silence that met the General's question gave Han the tiniest hope that Mon Mothma might claim to have forgotten to bring the draft. His hope was short-lived. 

Mon Mothma nodded, albeit with poorly-concealed reluctance, and reached for her datapad. "Give me a few moments, and I'll copy everyone in. It'd be a help to me if you could all read it and offer your suggestions, but that doesn't need to be immediately." Her words ended in an upwards, hopeful lilt. "I'd be especially grateful if Luke could give his opinion of paragraph 52.1." She turned to look at Luke. "That's the one summarizing the past links with the old Jedi Council."

"I propose we each skim through the document now, whilst we're all together," Madine said, effectively crushing any remaining hopes of an early escape.

Mon Mothma tapped away at her screen whilst everyone else, including Han, reached for their own datapads in an atmosphere of gloomy resignation. The draft was multiple pages long and written in the carefully-worded legalese that usually gave Han a headache. A genuine one. 

Ten paragraphs in, and Han turned on autoscroll, letting the words meander up the screen unread. No-one would be asking his opinion anyway, and even if he offered one, it'd most likely be ignored. In normal circumstances he'd have struggled to stay awake, and even the prospect of Madine deriving satisfaction from such a scenario wouldn't have been enough to keep him alert. But Luke, sitting at an oblique angle across from him, was too much of a distraction to permit any form of relaxation.

Han kept his eyes on the screen, letting the shifting text go in and out of focus, and catching the occasional word, meaningless in isolation. Despite his attempted embargo on revisiting potentially hazardous memories, Han's mind returned inexorably to that night in Luke's room, just hours before Luke had left for Sar'kina. 

The memories were messy and disjointed, and all Han's attempts to straighten them out had so far failed. It didn't make them any less powerful, or lessen the aching pull of arousal that was their constant companion. Hazy, jumbled images and barely-remembered words jostled with flashbacks too vivid for safe recall in an Alliance top-level meeting. Han remembered heat and sweat. The brush of Luke's breath and his murmured entreaties against Han's ear. He remembered his own voice, rough and scratchy; hoarse from the constant flow of words that Luke had drawn from him. He remembered how Luke had fucked him with an intensity and a concentration that even now made Han want to curl up and groan.

Han had known instinctively that Luke would never use the Force in a way that felt intrusive or controlling, but what he hadn't expected was not to feel it at all. At least, not until the very end. If his memories were indistinct, it wasn't down to any interference in his mind, because that had been non-existent. All Luke had done was to read his reactions through the Force, with the lightest, most understated touch possible. 

That hadn't been the same thing as imprecise. Han had no idea how many times Luke had taken him to the edge, only to let him teeter there for endless, gasping moments on the very brink of coming, making Han think he was going to relent. But then he'd stop and wait, until Han had slipped back just enough. Then he'd do it all over again. The filling pressure and slide, and the relentless slow build-up until Han was there at that edge yet again. Han only knew that Luke had done it over and over, until Han must've called him every name under every sun in the galaxy and used every curse ever invented. But he hadn't wanted Luke to stop. And even though he'd lost the capacity to think straight, he knew that Luke had known that. 

And then, just when Han was beginning to forget his own name, Luke's control over whatever it was he was doing had faltered. Han had felt it, not as something physical, but as though something bright and clear had fractionally dimmed, its edges blurring imperceptibly. He'd known, instinctively, that there was no way to salvage it before it shattered and all Han's muscles had tightened with anticipation. Luke had made a choked sound, gasped out something incomprehensible that Han thought might've been a warning, and something had slammed into Han's mind, shockingly intense and vivid. It had lasted only seconds, but in those moments Han had felt all of Luke inside him at once, not just his body, but all the force of his emotions and his needs and his desires, and then he'd felt Luke's orgasm rip through them both, the blaze of white hot heat burning spots behind Han's eyes. Han had come so hard it had hurt.

Mid-way through the following morning, several hours after Luke had left for Sar'kina, and already starting to ache from his absence, the full knowledge of what he'd shared with Luke had hit Han. It was followed, almost instantaneously, by the revelation that had left him leaning against the nearest wall, oblivious to the puzzled glances and calls of greeting from those passing by. It was a sudden recognition of all that he wanted, and all that he probably couldn't have. He'd leant against the nearest wall, unsettled and confounded, and knowing that his old self – or at least the self that everyone saw – had gone forever...

Half in and half out of the memory, Han stared at the screen of his datapad, trying to make sense of the blurred mass of words. The only thing he was certain of in that moment was that he had to get out of the conference room before he did something he'd unquestionably regret. "Sorry, but you're gonna have to excuse me," he said, to no-one in particular. "This headache's gettin' worse."

"We're about to finish soon," Madine stated. His tone of finality implied it was an order to stay until the end, but Han was certain that Madine, if he'd had the gift of foresight, would've been begging Han to leave rather than deal with the alternative. 

He stood up, pushing his chair backwards. "I'll be fine for tomorrow's meeting. I'm sure Leia can tell me if there's anythin' I need to know before then."

The look of exasperation from Leia signaled something, but Han didn't think it was agreement. He also knew it was nothing to the look she was about to give him.

"And if Luke's finished all he's got to say, I need a word with him. In private," he added.

Leia shook her head. "What about the drop-off plans? Luke needs to know about those! Can't you talk to him later?"

"Not really. This is urgent." He caught Luke's eye and stared him down, willing him to move his chair back.

But Leia didn't let him off the hook that easily. "So urgent that you didn't mention it before now?"

"I forgot." Han didn't look at Leia even though she was trying to catch his eye. She was no doubt suspecting this had something to do with the imaginary argument he'd had with Luke. 

It could've gone either way, but Luke moved before Leia – or anyone else – could object further. "I'm sure Han knows the drop-off plans," he said, standing up and moving his chair out of the way. "I can get everything I need from him." He turned to Han, a faultless look of mild enquiry on his face. "Can't I?"

Han turned without replying and stalked from the room. Luke followed, but at a more sedate pace, and with the customary leave-takings that Han wasn't able to make.

They didn't get very far down the corridor before Han reacted. Luke was one step behind him but he took several steps back when Han shoved him into a small side passage and up against a wall. Han took a breath at the jolt of connection and gripped Luke harder.

"You're playing with fire, Skywalker."

"Is that so?"

"You wanna be careful. Might get burnt."

"I'll try to remember that. Later." Luke found the edges of Han's jacket and pushed his hands inside it.

Han could feel the warmth of Luke's palms on his skin, even through his shirt. It mirrored the warmth within him that just being near Luke had engendered. He leaned in closer, already intoxicated. "Who said anything about later? What's wrong with now?"

Luke's grin spread slowly. "Is that why you dragged me out of there? You really should pay more attention to General Madine."

"Only in his dreams," Han muttered. "Anyway, I could say the same to you. We both know you planned this."

"That's more your specialty. My mind just doesn't work that way."

"Oh right," Han said. "How delusional of me." He dipped his head and grazed his lips along Luke's jaw, taking in the familiar, unique scent of Luke. "Bantha butter just wouldn't melt in your mouth would it?"

"I'm sure it wouldn't," Luke agreed. His breathed his next words against Han's ear, full of implicit promise. "But right now that's the last thing I'd want to put in my mouth."

Any response Han could've made to that was lost, because all the days of waiting and all the building heat inside him were starting to get the better of him. Luke in any frame of mind could take his breath away, but this deliberate provocation took that a step further. He knew that if he was going to be able to walk the rest of the way to one of their rooms then it needed to be now, but it wasn't the first time Luke had made him lose his head. Instead, he found himself pressing up closer to Luke, using as much of his body as he could to pin Luke hard against the wall. 

The contact produced a contradictory and powerful blend of relief and need for Han. All the softer, more yielding parts of Luke seemed to mold against Han, soothing his weeks-long ache of missing Luke, but the harder, angular parts of Luke served only to intensify his craving for more. Trapped between Han and the wall, Luke didn't move, but Han knew it wasn't because he couldn't. It was because Han was exactly where Luke wanted him. Yearning and hungry and demanding. The proof was there in the way Luke's arms tightened around Han, holding him in place.

Instinct made Han rock his hips against Luke, eliciting a stifled gasp from Luke. Han fought off a moan and backed away by the tiniest amount, proving to himself that he still had some use of his finer faculties. And he needed to remember where they were. There was nobody around, but it was still a public corridor. 

Luke took the opportunity to lay a trail of kisses along Han's neck, too lingering and too distracting to have any calming effect on Han. "Did you miss me then?" Luke asked, his voice muffled, buried somewhere between Han's collar bone and the open neck of his shirt.

Han dredged up some words from somewhere. "Oh, have you been away?"

Luke lifted his head to find Han's mouth. He brushed his lips against it. "Uh huh. But now I'm back, and it's been a long three weeks. Nothing to do at night except–"

Han cut him off by kissing him hard. It felt, as always, like stepping off an edge and into free fall. Han thought he could lose himself forever by kissing Luke. He was in danger of that happening now, especially in view of the soft, throaty noises Luke had started to make. They needed to go somewhere very private, and very soon.

That thought dissolved into a gasp as Luke took a grip of Han's hips, tugging him back up close until Han couldn't balance. The wall was the only thing keeping them upright, and as far as Han was concerned there were only two options. Either he pulled away from Luke that very moment, or he let himself be swept away by the soon-to-be-unstoppable force that was Luke. The former was undesirable, but the latter was deeply inadvisable in their current location.

It was Luke who solved Han's dilemma, breaking the kiss in a manner far too abrupt and out-of-character for Luke. Dragged back to reality, Han felt Luke tense against him. "What?"

"Madine."

There was no time to step away from Luke or to get himself back together. Han moved his arm upwards, leaning his elbow against the wall, instinct driving him to hide Luke's face from view.

"Interesting cure for a headache, Solo." 

Madine's voice came from the head of the passage, but he'd gone before Han could manage a reply. He turned back to Luke, wondering if his expression revealed anything to Luke of the complexity of feelings the encounter had produced. Because right there, forcing its way through the conflicting amusement and dismay, was that issue right at the heart of everything that'd been wrong with him these past three weeks. It clearly had no intention of letting him go. The only question remaining was what he ought to do about it, and it wasn't a question he knew how to address.

Instead, he kept his tone light and stuck to their immediate problem. "Y'know, he might not've seen you." 

Luke gave a quiet laugh. "Of course he saw me. Even if he didn't see my face, he knows it was me." 

The quizzical tone in Luke's voice served as confirmation that Luke had seen something in Han's reaction that'd made him think. Han didn't believe Luke could've worked anything out – most likely Luke thought Han was being unnecessarily protective. It wouldn't be the first time. He pushed the matter aside for now. "Then I hope you're ready for the attention."

"Maybe he won't tell anyone."

"You can bet your last credit he will. He'll drop hints to Mon Mothma, and it won't take her long to put two 'n two together. Then Mon Mothma'll tell Ackbar, 'cause the two of 'em are like that." He held up two entwined fingers. "Ackbar won't say anything deliberately, but he'll let it out by accident. So then all the squads'll know, which is the same as tellin' the entire base." Han took a breath. "Then it'll be on HoloNews Prime, and then... well, you get the idea."

"What d'you wanna do about it?" Luke asked.

And that was the big question, Han thought. Though not for the reasons Luke meant. "Right now? Nothin'," he said. "But I guess we oughta think about it soon."

Luke wound an arm around Han's neck and pulled him back. "As long as it's not too soon." 

Luke's answer felt ambiguous, and even though Han was almost sure he was reading too much into it, in Han's experience new doubts bred increasing certainty. In this case, the certainty was that he needed to think carefully about what he gave away. So for now, he simply kissed Luke.

It was only a light, quick kiss, but Han felt that contradiction again. This was Luke ostensibly calm and composed, but it was a surface veneer only. Han knew it would vanish the moment they were behind a locked door, and he suspected Luke's need for that was equally as acute as his own.

He pressed a harder, more urgent, kiss against Luke's lips. "We need to go, right now!"

Luke spoke against Han's mouth, and Han could hear the smile in his words. "Getting impatient, Han?"

Han grinned and extricated himself from Luke's arms. "Interesting observation, comin' from you."

"What d'you mean?" 

Han turned to head back to the main corridor. "Well, I can think of plenty of words to describe you, and patient ain't top of the list. Whereas me, I've got a lot of patience. And I've proved it."

"Really?"

He caught hold of Luke's arm and gave it a distinct tug. "Y'know, any second now, the rest of 'em are gonna come out of that room and they're gonna walk down the corridor," Han said. "Unless you wanna be stuck here making small talk with Mon Mothma I suggest we get a move on. And yeah, really," he added, in answer to Luke. "I'm sure you know what I'm talkin' about."

"I don't remember you being patient. I seem to remember you swearing at me. A lot."

Han remembered that too, but his body remembered it more. He felt that sharp stab of desire again. The incapacitating kind. The kind he had to stop and breathe through. 

"Han...?"

"Uh... yeah, right here."

"Are we going?"

"Sure. Just one question – your room or mine?"

"Yours. Artoo's in mine."


	2. Chapter 2

The deepening glow of Coruscant's setting sun lent illusory warmth and color to Han's room, softening the hard lines of permacrete and transparisteel, and throwing the passing traffic beyond the viewscreen into silhouette. Reality was the chill from the sanitized, regulated airflow, and Han caught Luke's shiver when the door slid to a close behind them. His half-formed thought to adjust the thermostat was lost in the fierceness of Luke's embrace, and he met Luke's mouth with his own for a kiss that, for Han, chased away the coldness of the room. 

The icy breath of air on the back of his neck dragged Han back to the knowledge of a temperature running several degrees below what Luke considered acceptable. "It's cold in here," he murmured. "Gonna sort it out."

Luke released him with marked reluctance. "If you can do it quickly."

Han grinned at him. "Hey, this is _me_ – I can do _anything_ quickly. Just don't want you goin' on about the cold."

"Except you'll complain when it's too hot."

Han's grin widened, because Luke was completely right. But Han feeling the heat was usually down to Luke himself rather than the setting of the air cooler. It was just something Luke did to him, and Han suspected it'd be the same even on Hoth.

While Han tapped settings into the control pad of the room's thermostat, Luke walked across the room to stare out across the cityscape. "Sar'kina was so still in the evenings. Nothing ever stops here does it?"

"Nope," Han agreed. He stepped up behind Luke and wound his arms around Luke's waist. Nuzzled his chin into the hollow between neck and shoulder, and wondered what was going on inside Luke's head. Because this quiet pause marked a change of sorts. He couldn't pinpoint how or why, only suspecting that it had something to do with Luke perceiving Han's inner agitation, buried though he'd believed it to be. He bit down on the words he wanted to say, but at the same time questioned himself on just how much longer he could keep them inside.

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the chaos of speeders and shuttles vying for space. But even the panoramic view, seen through a viewscreen which stretched from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, couldn't alleviate the closed-in atmosphere common to all the tower apartments. For those that lived there, the world outside was sealed off, shut away through a combination of air filters, noise elimination, and one-way transparisteel that prevented curious eyes from seeing inside.

"Goin' somewhere like Sar'kina ... doesn't it make you wanna move away from here?" Han asked.

"It crossed my mind. But I'm happy with a break every now and then." 

Han kissed the back of Luke's neck. "But stayin' here's not helping you with your Jedi research is it? No space to think, let alone time."

"It is and it isn't," Luke said. "There are so many here who remember the Jedi. If I spent my whole life just listening to their stories I'd only get to hear a fraction of them."

"It ain't about the past though," Han objected, because he'd paid attention to Luke's voiced thoughts, even if Luke believed he hadn't. "It's about reachin' out to what's around you now." He waved a hand at the passing airspeeders. "And here it's all machines and duracrete."

"In a way," Luke agreed, "but there's just about every species in the galaxy as well, and they all feel so different in the Force. It's... challenging." He twisted around in Han's arms until they were standing face to face. "And anyway, you're here, aren't you?"

"Is that an afterthought?" Han asked, his attempt at a snarky challenge coming out far more hesitant than he'd intended, but Mon Mothma's words from earlier were still a source of lingering disquiet.

Luke's searching gaze swept Han's face. "No."

"Y'know, I could be anywhere else, too." It was the kind of remark Han hadn't intended to make, but Luke's answer had made him careless. The trouble was, now he'd made it he wasn't sure where to take it next. The slight frown furrowing Luke's brow signified only puzzlement, but it was enough to make the immediate decision for Han. He shook his head to pre-empt Luke's question. "Don't ask me about it now, 'kay?"

Luke smiled, but the confusion remained. "Okay. So what _can_ I ask you about?" 

Han planted a kiss on Luke's lips. "Anythin' else. You can ask about Madine's drop-off plans if you like."

Luke gave a soft laugh. "I'll be sure to do that." He returned Han's kiss, then moved his lips along Han's jaw. "But not right now." 

The heat that had been pooling deep inside Han, ever since Luke had walked through the doors of the conference room, was now close to boiling, intensified by the need that prickled across every inch of his skin. Attempting to pretend otherwise wouldn't deceive Luke, but he did it anyway, just to prove to himself that he could. "So what d'you wanna do?" he asked, his voice a low rasp despite his efforts. "Eat? Sleep? Catch up on your messages?"

"All of those, and probably in that order." Luke's lips grazed Han's ear, then followed Han's hairline down to his neck. "But again, not right now."

"We're runnin' out of options."

"You should think a bit harder," Luke said. He had hold of Han's shirt, just above his belt, and he tugged it upwards, trying to pull it loose. "I can think of plenty of options." 

The hem of Han's shirt caught on his weapons belt, so Luke turned his attention to removing that first. Han grabbed the belt before Luke could fling it aside, and he tossed it – much more gently than Luke would've done – onto the nearest chair.

"See, just like I said – you're impatient."

Luke returned to Han's shirt, this time succeeding in pulling it out all the way round. "You're delusional again. I can't be impatient – it's not a Jedi quality." Then he started on the fasteners. 

Han's grin returned. Most people, if they were taking someone else's clothes off, would do it in layers, from the outside in. But Luke had ignored Han's jacket and gone straight for his shirt. Then he could slide them both off together and save some time. "Must be imagining it then. Along with all the other stuff."

"What other stuff?" Luke was down to the last fastener.

"Like how you're bossy. Demanding. Always tellin' me to do things."

Just as Han had predicted, Luke pushed Han's shirt and jacket off together, hauling them over his shoulders and down his arms. Han didn't bother to catch them before them were unceremoniously dropped on the floor. "You don't seem to mind," Luke said.

There was no denying it, but not minding it wasn't a very accurate description. He was wild about it. Dreamt about it. Walked into doors thinking about it.

When Luke's hands touched Han's bared skin, Luke seemed to still for a moment, letting out a long, slow breath. To Han, it looked something like relief. Much like the feeling Han had succumbed to when he'd trapped Luke between himself and the wall a little earlier on, and when Luke had asked if he'd missed him. "Yeah, I did," he murmured, his fingers sliding into Luke's hair, finding a hold.

"Did what?"

"Miss you." Han held Luke's eyes for a long moment. It could have been an opportunity to speak. To attempt to explain how he'd felt these past weeks. But his stubborn doubts served to keep him silent, despite the openness of Luke's gaze – an implicit invitation to confess. 

He knew the opportunity was lost when Luke slid his palms up Han's sides, drawing a shiver from Han and an answering flare of need in Luke's eyes. There was a brief moment, where the calmness in Luke still lingered, and where he traced the jut of Han's ribs with the slow glide of fingertips. But that was lost when Han closed his fingers around a fistful of Luke's hair, forcing Luke's head back so Han could kiss the skin beneath his jaw. Then it was just like always. 

A headlong plunge into the maelstrom that was Luke throwing the rest of Han's clothes on the floor along with his own, and Luke stopping randomly to kiss Han wherever he could. All the impatience and breathless need that Han saw in Luke was there in Han too, as he sought to assuage the craving that had dominated the past three weeks.

On the bed, Luke sat astride Han, the vivid blaze of the sunset catching his skin, whilst the soft illumination from a glowlamp cast light and shadow across his face. Han was struck, yet again, by recognition of the subtle change that had wrapped itself around them. That Luke recognized it too was evident in the way he murmured Han's name, as though the question he'd wanted to ask earlier on was still there, waiting for the right moment. 

Han pulled him down. "C'mere." Fastened his lips on Luke's mouth and found Luke's tongue with his own. His moan vanished into Luke's mouth, but Luke reacted as he always did. With the soft, throaty groans that eroded the edges of Han's self-control. He'd planned to take it slowly. But the weeks of missing Luke were too many days of pent-up feelings and emotional confusion, and Han knew his resolution to take his time had already shattered beyond repair.

Part of him wanted to keep Luke there, kissing him and making him wait, listening to those quiet sounds changing in tempo and feeling the last shreds of Luke's patience melting away. The other part of him wanted to push Luke onto his back and finish it, because he was almost too far gone to do anything else.

Luke spared him a decision, by breaking away from Han's grip and sitting back. He stayed there, one hand slowly stroking down Han's side, whilst Han took a deep breath and tried to think of anything other than the frantic demands of his body. He knew Luke was trying to calm them both, but he'd also learned that these sudden stops and starts were just something Luke did, and Han had no way to prepare for them. Frenetic one moment, and quiet the next, sex with Luke was an erratic mixture of recklessness and tenderness, ferocity and gentleness. Unpredictable, impetuous and all-consuming, and Han was addicted to it. 

Just as he was to Luke's never-satisfied urge to discover all there was to know about Han's body. Luke kissed him everywhere with an agonizing slowness that wound Han up even further until the first of his curses forced its way past his lips. Luke's diminishing self-control meant he sometimes gripped Han a little too hard or used his teeth, and the sudden, sharp stings made Han gasp, his hips arching instinctively upwards. By the time Luke kissed down the length of his cock Han had gone well past the stage of coherent speech. He'd been there before with Luke – close to coming, needing Luke to stop but wanting him to continue. This time, the swirl of Luke's tongue around the head of his cock was almost too much for Han, and he groaned out mindlessly, eyes screwed shut. "Oh... gods. Fuck..."

He heard the rattle of items on the shelf beside the bed, and the slap of something snatched through the Force to land unerringly in Luke's hand. The familiar tang of the scented oil had Han lifting his hips involuntarily, but his eyes flew open in surprise when a slick palm wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, coating him and dragging another helpless moan from deep in his throat. He couldn't take his eyes away, fierce hunger taking all his breath, when Luke used his own fingers, glistening and fragrant, to prepare himself.

Luke had been away from him for too long, and when he lowered himself onto Han's cock, biting his lip, sinking down with his eyes closed and a soft whimper, Han clutched handfuls of sheet to stop himself from coming, and let out his breath in a long, ragged groan.

"Wait... can't...!" he gasped out, twisting his fingers further into the sheet to stop his hips thrusting violently upwards, the part of him that wanted to fuck Luke hard battling the part that knew he'd never last to do it.

But Luke had his own ideas, and Han didn't stand a chance. He gave Han mere moments whilst he untangled Han's hands from the sheet, taking away Han's last defense. Han slid his hands into Luke's hair, the gleam of sweat on Luke's forehead a sign that Luke was struggling too.

Luke was all burning heat, tight and slick around Han's cock, and he made small, broken sounds as he rocked astride Han. Relentless pressure was building inside Han, and he dragged Luke down, crushing his mouth against Luke's, teeth and tongues clashing, as Luke moaned into the contact. The heavy press of Luke's erection against Han's body made Han's hips buck violently, and he was totally lost. Helpless and thrusting and desperate, then coming in long, powerful bursts, deep inside Luke.

All Han could do was lie there, arms flung out, his limbs turned heavy and boneless, as Luke eased himself off Han and lay down beside him. Han could sense the tension rolling off Luke in waves, but right at that moment he was powerless to rectify it, unable to do anything but wait for his brain to recognize the rest of his body and for his breathing to return to normal.

After what probably seemed like an eternity to Luke, Han forced himself onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, wondering how bones that felt like liquid – albeit slowly solidifying – could support his weight. He gazed down at Luke.

"Told ya I'd missed you." 

Luke smiled up at him, even though it was a smile tempered by the strain of need. "I missed you too," he said. "I'm still missing you..."

Han grinned, and trailed a palm up the side of Luke's thigh. "Don't worry, I'm gonna sort that out right now."

This time, Han determined, as he leaned down to reach Luke's mouth with his own, he would take his time and keep his head. But with the first touch of his lips to Luke's, Han knew he'd forgotten a number of things. Such as the effect Luke always had on him. How any resolve he ever had just melted away in kissing Luke. And how the renewed stirring of arousal deep in the pit of his stomach could monopolize him in moments. 

And he'd forgotten how persuasive Luke could be. With his gasps and his sighs, and his low moans, and his teeth that caught at Han's lower lip, and his tongue that demanded possession of Han's mouth, and the heat of his body and the ripple of muscle, and the strength of his grip, and his murmured entreaties turning to demands. 

But still, Luke had worn the edges off Han's earlier, frantic need, and Han was resolute that this time he'd slow things down. Because he wanted to savor everything. The stretch of his lips around Luke's cock, its hot, hard length filling Han's mouth and leaking against his tongue. The two fingers that he'd pushed inside Luke twisted and brushed against the very spot Han knew would make Luke's hips buck, but Han was ready for that, pinning Luke down with his other hand.

Han knew he could make Luke come in his mouth just with his tongue and his lips. If he added the lightest touch of his teeth, Luke would swear and groan and come harder. If he added a third finger inside Luke, he'd struggle to hold Luke down. 

The thick, scented oil Luke had used earlier made it easy to push that other finger into Luke, and it should've been simple then. But the other thing that Han had forgotten made itself glaringly obvious. That what Han wanted most of all was to give Luke exactly what he wanted, in any way that Luke wanted it, and nothing that he tried to do to counteract that was going to change it. There'd been plenty of times when Han had wondered if the fierceness Luke encouraged in him was something Luke really wanted, or if it was something he thought _Han_ wanted. Doubt over that was a thing of the past now – the night before Luke's visit to Sar'kina had seen to that.

So Han pulled away and knelt astride Luke, looking down at him, all flushed and sweating and disheveled. Close to out-of-control and breathing hard, Luke stared back up at him. Han didn't need proof, but even so he trailed a fingertip up the length of Luke's cock, used it to trace a pattern of repeating circles through the glistening fluid at its tip. Pushing Luke further into the place where Luke's control would just vanish.

Luke breathed out. "Han, please..." The barely-restrained edge in his voice drove Han wild, like it always did. Han, now achingly hard again, pressed a hand against his own erection, his need for relief turning almost as acute as earlier.

"Want me to fuck you?"

They both knew Han's question didn't need an answer, but the shuddering groan Luke made was enough of one anyway. Han glanced around for the familiar jar of oil, but it was nowhere in sight. "Get the stuff," he growled.

The jar flew into Luke's outstretched hand with a dull thud, and Han took it from him, his eyes locked onto Luke's. He worked a knee between Luke's thighs, pushing Luke's legs apart, and dipped his fingers into the jar. Luke didn't really need any more, but Han wanted the time to regain some control. He prepared Luke slowly, carefully, stopping to brush his lips across Luke's jaw, and his tongue across nipples drawn tight and hard.

When Han wrapped a palm around his own cock, stroking and coating it with oil, he watched Luke's gaze darken and his breathing hitch in anticipation. He pushed into Luke in one go, breathing in the hiss that escaped Luke's lips. Luke had never wanted him to wait, and this time was no exception as Luke twisted beneath him, his words a rough demand, "Come on!"

So Han held Luke down and fucked him, keeping it slow and deep, building a rhythm and drawing it out, expecting that, in the face of Luke's inevitable impatience, he wouldn't be able to sustain it for much longer. But, once again, Han sensed a change in Luke. It was only fractional, and maybe it was just that by now, Han would've expected Luke's tolerance to have vanished, replaced by the usual insistence that Han fuck him harder. Instead, it was as if he was holding something back.

Han knew in an instant that he'd caused this change, just like he'd caused the unasked questions in Luke's eyes earlier on. He'd caused it by letting Luke know he had something to hide. It was doubt breeding certainty again – the certainty that if Han was hiding something, it was probably something bad – and Luke was just as capable as Han of letting that get the better of him. And Han couldn't have that. Not when it was founded on nothing but Han's own stupidity.

He stilled abruptly, grasping the moment before it disappeared. He knew what he wanted to say. Knew what he _had_ to say. He'd never said it to Luke before, and it had never seemed to matter, but right now it felt like it was all that mattered.

"Luke," he murmured. To his own ears Han's appeal sounded barely audible, and he wondered for a long stretch of silence if Luke had heard him.

"What's wrong?" The question came back, far too tentative for Luke, as if he thought Han would choose this moment to break things off, or walk away.

"Nothing. There's nothing wrong. I love you." The words came out blunt, like he'd snatched them randomly, meaninglessly, from the air. 

It took a moment for Luke's lips to curve into a smile, and still the flickers of confusion didn't clear completely from his eyes. "Han..." He moved a hand to the back of Han's neck and tried to pull him down into a kiss.

Han resisted. "No," he said, "I'm tryin' to say... I _really_ love you." He brushed strands of hair away from Luke's face. "Y'know, just the way you are." He quirked a wry grin at the cliché he'd managed to produce. "Don't try to change."

Luke gazed back up at him and Han knew he was about to speak, but he didn't want that. He stopped him by leaning down and brushing his lips over Luke's. He kept doing it until he couldn't bear the too-restrained touch any longer. Until his hand wrapped around Luke's head of its own volition, and he brought their mouths together for a kiss, suppressed urgency turning it rough and desperate in moments.

Then carefully, deliberately, he took hold of one of Luke's hands. Curled Luke's fingers around the rail of the bed behind Luke's head. "I'll tell you somethin' else," Han growled, watching Luke take a rapid, uneven breath. "I'm gonna fuck you for real now." He reached for Luke's other hand, pinning it back to grip the bed head. "So you'd better be ready."

***

This time, it took Han longer to regain the ability to think, let alone move. He lay heavily on top of Luke, probably crushing the breath out of him, but the fact that Luke hadn't tried to push him off was telling. Three weeks of being a role model for the Alliance, followed by a grueling flight full of multiple safety jumps, and then having to attend a tedious high-level meeting, would exhaust anyone, with the possible exception of Luke. 

But Luke had wanted Han with as much urgency as Han had wanted Luke, and Han, for one reason or another, had kept him waiting. It was likely that which had drained Luke of the last of his energy. For Han, it had been worth the wait. It had been the longest he'd ever held off from giving Luke exactly what he needed, and the sight and sound of Luke driven to total incoherence was something else that Han would struggle to get out of his mind. That, and Luke's convulsive, highly vocalized orgasm that had made Han come almost immediately afterwards. Han knew it wouldn't take Luke long to recuperate – it never did – but he decided to take advantage of Luke's temporary exhaustion by staying right where he was.

He must've dozed off – hardly surprising with his recent lack of sleep – because the next time he opened his eyes, the sun had set completely, and the room was bathed with the glow of lights from surrounding towers. The headlamps from passing air speeders sent eddying swirls of illumination across the bed, where Luke lay still and quiet beneath him. Han raised himself up onto an elbow and looked down at him, sleeping peacefully, one arm flung out to the side and the other resting along Han's side. Just like Han, Luke was disheveled – sticky with the residues of sex and sweat, with tangled hair and still-flushed skin – but Han thought he looked beautiful. And after all the muddled thinking and soul-searching he'd done over the past few weeks, everything was now crystal clear. 

In reality, it had been clear since the night they'd spent together, before Luke had left on assignment. From the moment Luke's mind had joined so chaotically and so shockingly with Han's. When, for the briefest second, Han had felt Luke's needs as vividly as he'd felt his own. When Han had seen and understood in that too short spark of pure connection. There was no need for any more uncertainty.

Because, sleeping beneath him, was just Luke – his most vulnerable, honest and open self. A Jedi, yes, and powerful with it, but he was as human as Han. Someone who threw his clothes around and laughed at himself and argued with Han for the sake of it and liked his sex somewhat on the wild side.

It was down to trust, Han knew now. Total trust. With so much of his life lived on show Luke had done the only thing possible. He'd developed a public identity. There was nothing false about it – it was still fundamentally Luke – but it was all about showing only as much as necessary without coming across as secretive. The galaxy needed its Jedi, and Luke needed to be approachable and open. But the galaxy's inhabitants also had their own expectations. They wanted Luke to be calm and in control, but they also wanted him to speak up for those who needed it, fight when necessary, be always strong yet always sympathetic.

That the galaxy had hit it lucky with Luke was obvious, because Luke was all of those things. But he was also a whole lot more, and even though Luke seemed publically to take the galaxy's wishes in his stride, Han knew it wasn't as easy as Luke made it seem. 

Luke had always come to Han to unwind, to shed his responsibilities for a short while, and to offload his worries and fixations. There'd been the tricky patch, when Luke had withdrawn from everyone over the whole Vader business, but once he'd got past that, Luke had held nothing back from Han.

Which is why Han realized he'd been especially stupid to have worried over certain things. To have wondered if the fierceness of the sex Luke asked for and his customary impatience was down to Luke sacrificing his own desires in the face of what he thought Han would want. He'd been stupid, because of course Luke didn't bring his public personality into bed; he brought his whole, real self. So if Luke asked for something, it wasn't because he thought Han would expect it or want it, it was because he trusted Han to accept Luke the way he was. And maybe Luke saw Han as a refuge. Someone he could go to where he could throw off the weight of responsibility and just be himself. Where he could give free rein to that passionate, impulsive and headstrong nature that had defined so much of his earlier life.

The crash of connection through the Force had given Han these answers, but he knew now that he'd known them all along. It'd just taken an extra push for him to get there. But the extra push had also given him another answer, this time to a question he'd never expected to ask himself. 

Luke chose that moment to stir, blinking sleepily up at Han, a barely awake smile on his lips. Han grinned down at him, shoving his thoughts aside. "About time. I was gonna give up and go eat by myself."

Luke yawned. "Looking like that?" he asked, eyeing up Han's appearance.

"It's late. No-one's gonna notice."

"Yeah, right," Luke said drily. He pushed at Han until he was forced to move. Han rolled over and lay flat on his back, wondering if he even had the energy to drag himself off the bed.

"Get up, now!" Luke ordered. "Or _I'll_ go off to eat without _you_."

Han turned his head, throwing Luke another grin. "Looking like that?"

***

Half an hour later, both showered and dressed – Luke even had his tunic fastened correctly – they wandered into the nicest of the restaurants that had opened up in the tower to cater specifically for Alliance personnel. It operated from the very top floor of the building and, along with its spectacular views, it had a laid back, friendly approach. Finding a table in a corner with two-way views was a work of art during busy periods, but this late at night the restaurant was quieter, and the table they chose managed to combine the views with a degree of privacy.

It was definitely a step up from the pilots' mess room in the nearby hangar domes, where they habitually ate, but Han wondered if Luke might see the seclusion as an opportunity to ask the questions Han had sidestepped earlier on. If so, he'd just have to deal with it – moving on to somewhere busier and less private wasn't an option now, especially as he spotted a server droid bearing down on them.

They ordered the restaurant's specialty, a large shared platter of bite-size portions of whatever the kitchen decided to throw at them. It came with a jug of wine from somewhere in the galaxy – they left the choice to the server droid on the grounds that it claimed to know the nuances of every wine the restaurant served.

"Not bad," Han commented, swirling the deep red liquor around in his glass before taking a sip. He speared something unrecognizable with his fork.

"So... am I allowed to ask questions now?"

Han put his fork back down and scrubbed at his hair. He'd half expected it, of course, but even so, he wondered what kind of a mess he'd got himself into. "Sure – ask away. I can't guarantee you'll like the answers."

"Okay..." A puzzled look was back in Luke's eyes, and Han cursed himself silently for his inability to say the right things. Or maybe his ability to say the wrong things. 

"Something's still up with you," Luke continued, his tone careful. "Whatever it is, it's been bothering you while I've been away. As Leia said–"

Han rolled his eyes. "Your sister's always gonna be sayin' stuff like that. You want my advice? Ignore it." He retrieved his fork, took a bite of the unidentified vegetable.

"I can't ignore it – and it's not about Leia anyway. It wouldn't have made any difference if she'd said nothing. I can tell something's up." Luke hesitated, took a deeper breath. "Is it... about what happened that night? I mean, before I went to Sar'kina?"

"No!" Han followed his instant denial with a frown, because he wasn't being completely honest. "Well, maybe a bit," he qualified. "But not like you're thinkin'."

"I'm sorry. I should've been more careful–"

"Hey, that's not it! Don't go gettin' the wrong idea." 

"But I lost control – I shouldn't have let that happen."

Han abandoned his fork. "It was me that asked you to do it, remember? And I don't regret a single second of it. We both lost control, and so what? I don't care!" 

"Don't you?"

Han grimaced, hesitated. "Actually, I _do_ care. And I'm gonna go further and say I'm glad it happened that way."

There was a startled flash in Luke's eyes. "Why?"

"Because it made me see things more clearly. That's what I'm tryin' to say."

"What things?"

Han pulled another face. "It's kinda hard to explain. I kept thinking about it, tryin' to get my head round something. Then I realized it wasn't just _that_ I was thinkin' about..." He tailed off, knowing he'd never be able to explain his thoughts in a way that made sense. His fixation with that particular night wasn't just with the sex, but with the connection he'd had with Luke, especially in those final, accidental moments. And it _had_ made him see things clearly, even if it had taken till the following morning for him to realize the full extent–

"Well?" Luke's question cut into Han's thoughts. "Are you going to tell me anything?"

"I dunno if I can. People want different things outta life. Maybe what I want ain't what you want. Maybe _you_ could try tellin' _me_."

"Telling you what? Are you asking me what I want out of life?" Luke picked up his glass but didn't drink. "Most of the time I think I'm just looking to get through it alive."

Han snorted. "Yeah, I can see that. But that's it? You're not lookin' for anything else?"

"These days, it feels safer just to live day to day. I used to look for a lot of things, back on Tatooine. And imagine all kinds of things for the future. I never imagined any of the things that actually happened..."

Han gave a rueful grin. "I'm with you there."

"But we weren't talking about me," Luke reminded him. "If you've got some sort of problem, I wish you'd just tell me straight out."

"Ain't that easy," Han admitted. Nor was he sure it was advisable. They had something good between them. Something unique. If he pushed too far, or asked for too much, or just generally put his foot in it, he could jeopardize everything.

Luke took a sip of his wine, and to Han it looked a little like a fortifying one. "If it helps... I know you don't want to be tied down to anything, or anyone. If it's getting too much, or it's bothering you that we're–"

"No," Han interrupted, "it's not that at all! You're going way off in the wrong direction."

"Then point me in the right direction."

"On second thoughts, maybe we should change the subject," Han said. "I mean, you've just got back and I'm sure you wanna enjoy your meal and relax. And we've still gotta talk about Madine's drop-off plans."

Luke put his glass down, frustration evident in the gesture. "What, you think I'm just going to sit here and eat and pretend you never said anything? Han – if you're looking for a way out, or want to back off a bit, then just say so right now!"

Han dragged a hand across his jaw, feeling the rasp of late night stubble beneath his palm. "Okay..." He paused, considering his words. "About what I said, y'know... in the heat of the moment..."

Luke's gaze seemed to shutter a little. "Don't worry about it." His tone was light, but Han could hear the wariness beneath it.

"Well, it wasn't in the heat of the moment."

"Wasn't it? Seemed like it at the time." Luke gave him a light smile, but to Han's eyes, the guardedness was still there beneath it.

"Yeah, well I guess it was, but what I mean is... I didn't say it 'cause I didn't know what I was sayin'. The point is, I meant what I said and I'm not gonna take it back. You'll just hafta deal with it somehow."

Luke stared at him in silence for several seconds. "Did you think I'd want you to take it back?" he asked at last.

Han shrugged. "Things have been working out okay without me rockin' the boat. You've got enough problems without me adding to 'em."

"You think I'd see it as a problem?"

"You might. It's an extra complication, ain't it?"

Luke shook his head slowly. "Why d'you think I'm here with you Han?"

"You're askin' me a lot of questions."

"I wouldn't have to if you made any sense! Just tell me – what d'you think I'm doing here?"

"Having a meal?" Han returned, even though neither of them were actually eating anything. 

Luke ignored Han's quip, his words as blunt as his tone. "D'you think I'm in it just for the sex?"

"No! Well... you could be... I mean, it's good between us isn't it?"

The expression on Luke's face bordered on incredulous. "Sure! But it's good for me because it's with you! Isn't that obvious to you?"

"It's obvious it works out pretty good between us, but, well, you're... kinda different." 

"Different?" A further note of confusion had crept into Luke's voice. "Different how? You mean the Jedi stuff? I thought we'd been through that before!"

"Hells," Han muttered. "I told you we shoulda changed the subject." He fiddled with his half-full wine glass, turning it round and round on the slippery surface of the table. The conversation was still going in the wrong direction, and Luke was still getting the wrong end of the stick. Except... Luke _was_ different, and therein lay the problem. Because this was no longer Luke the farmboy, looking for adventure and excitement and a way off Tatooine. This was Luke the Jedi. Galactic hero and celebrity, with the whole galaxy before him and a future wrapped up in a power that Han could never share. To expect him to want the same things Han now wanted was irrational and potentially misguided.

"Han?" Luke prompted.

Han stilled his wine glass. "Sorry. I just thought, with all your responsibilities... all you wanna do with your life, for me to butt in too much..."

"We've all got responsibilities! What difference do those make?" Luke exclaimed. "I'm with you because I _want_ to be with you, responsibilities or otherwise!" 

Han tossed him a wry smile. "Okay. But there's a whole galaxy out there, and these days you're free to do whatever the heck you want." 

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze holding Han's. "I'm already doing what I want to do. And that means being with you. Is that okay with you?"

Han grinned and swivelled his wine glass again. "Sure. But look at it from my point of view. You're just starting out on this full-scale Jedi thing, what with your research, and your diplomatic missions, and all that stuff. Who knows where you'll be in a few years."

"And who knows where you'll be?" Luke retorted. "Who knows where any of us'll be? Certainty about the future's something none of us have had for our entire lives! Why's that bothering you now?"

"It's not botherin' me." Han took another sip of his wine, studying Luke over the rim of his glass, and wondering how he'd managed to get himself into such a tangled mess of verbal misunderstandings. The reality however, was that it _was_ bothering him. And Luke knew that, just as he knew Han was still avoiding the issue that lay at the heart of his problem. But without clarification from Han, Luke's imagination was building a whole set of non-existent issues, and it really was up to Han to set the record straight. But Han was no clearer now in knowing how to approach that than he'd ever been.

"You say it's not bothering you, but everything you've just said implies the exact opposite," Luke said. He sat back in his seat, leaving his forearms resting on the table. "I can give you a certainty, if that's what you're looking for."

"Oh?" Han took another, deeper, swallow of his wine.

"I'm certain that I love you. Does that help at all?"

The wine caught the back of Han's throat. Through the resultant coughing he caught Luke's smile. When he could speak again, he rasped out a response. "I guess that helps a bit."

"But it's not the answer you're looking for," Luke stated.

"What? Of course it's the answer I'm lookin' for!" Han coughed again and reached out for his glass. Thought better of it and dropped his hand back on the table. "How can you even think that?"

"Okay, I'll rephrase that. I don't think it's the _specific_ answer you're looking for."

Han tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, frustrated both with himself, for being so transparent, and with Luke, for being too perceptive. He straightened his head and came to a decision. Although he could hardly come right out and divulge the full nature of his problem, he could try and go part way. "While you were away," he started, "I did some thinking. Came to a few conclusions." He shrugged lightly. "Telling you is kinda pointless now, 'cause of Madine."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "You mean because he saw us? You could just tell me anyway," he suggested.

Han went back to fiddling with his glass. It was that or the fork. "I thought... maybe we could stop hiding away. Y'know? Just go public."

Judging by the look of surprise on Luke's face, it clearly wasn't what he'd expected to hear. "I... Really? You wanted that?"

"Doesn't matter now, does it? Like I said before, it's gonna get out soon once Madine talks to someone. And he will."

Luke touched a hand to Han's forearm. Just the lightest graze of his fingertips. "It matters to me if that's what you wanted."

"Yeah, I did want that. I still do. But I didn't wanna drag your name through the mud–"

"Han, I don't see being linked to you as having my name dragged through the mud!" There was further exasperation in Luke's tone.

"It kinda will be though. Every gutter holojourno's gonna scrape the barrel looking for dirt on me, just to get a new angle on a story."

"They've already scraped every barrel for stuff on all of us – I'd be surprised if there's anything left! Anyway, I've never cared what they have to say about us, and I'm not gonna start caring now." A slight frown creased Luke's brow. "And I'll tell _you_ something. If you'd asked me before Madine saw us if I wanted to make things public, and I knew you wanted that, I'd have said yes without a second thought."

"You would?"

"Yes! I always thought you wanted to keep it low key. I didn't think you'd want it out in the open because it'll mean every move we make gets scrutinized and misinterpreted – even more than it already is. And also..." Luke tailed off.

"Also what?"

"Going public – it'd seem like more of a commitment. I didn't think you'd want that."

"You didn't huh?" Before he could stop himself Han had reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the package that he'd been carrying round for the past weeks. Wrapped haphazardly in a twist of brown synth-paper and tied with coarse twine, it looked very unprepossessing. He set it down in front of Luke.

"What's that?" Luke asked.

"Proof that I've lost the plot."

"Well–"

"Just open it. Then you'll know I'm right."

Luke threw him a mystified glance, then picked up the package. Simultaneously, some indeterminable emotion passed across his face. Han wasn't sure, but it looked for a moment like Luke was adrift in memory. And in the seconds before Luke looked down, Han thought he saw something like recognition riding in his eyes. That, and maybe disbelief. 

Luke tugged on the ends of the twine and pulled the crumpled synth-paper away to reveal a squat, grubby, transparent vial. Sealed inside lay a similar, smaller vial. A torn label, handwritten in Huttese, partially obscured the contents, but light from the table's glowlamp caught the glitter of a clear liquid.

Luke didn't move for the longest time as he stared at the vial in front of him, and Han didn't think he'd ever seen him look so lost for words. 

"This is..." Luke spoke at last, though the words seemed to catch in his throat. "You know what this is?" He didn't lift his eyes from the vial.

"I know what I was _told_ it was. If it's genuine then it's–"

"It's genuine," Luke cut in. He looked up then, his eyes locking onto Han's, and Han stared back, totally unable to read Luke's expression. 

"It's definitely genuine," Luke repeated. His words were soft, almost a whisper. He didn't look away from Han.

"How d'you know?" It wasn't really what Han should be asking, but he'd already laid all his cards on the table. There was no taking back what he'd revealed.

"The Darklighters had a flask..." 

"The Darklighters?" Han said, frowning. "Biggs, you mean?"

Luke nodded. "His family..." He took a deep breath, and it seemed to Han that it had a steadying effect on him. "His family owned a lot of farms. I guess you'd call them wealthy, by Tatooine standards. Huff's business was water. He used to trade it." He cleared his throat. "Condensed water, I mean."

Han waited for further explanation, but Luke had fallen silent again, and his gaze had dropped back down to the vial on the table. "Was Huff Biggs's father?" Han asked. He felt strangely calm, even though, in the circumstances, the conversation they were having seemed too ordinary. With all his uncertainty during the past three weeks, Han would've expected to feel, at the very least, a degree of agitation.

Luke looked back up at him. "Yes. I used to look at the flask sometimes when I was over there. It'd cost him a year's supply of standard water."

Han whistled softly. "Wasn't that a bit of a gamble? Must be a lot of fake stuff around."

Luke gave a small smile at that. "You, concerned over a gamble?"

Han shrugged. Luke had a point, especially now, when Han had just played one of the biggest gambles of his life so far, and he had no idea which way it was going to go.

"Yeah, there was fake stuff around," Luke continued. "Just not as much as you'd expect. That's because the Hutts controlled it. It wasn't realistic to have too much out there, and it was in their interests to keep the market going for the genuine stuff." 

"I still don't get how you're sure it's real."

Luke said nothing for a long moment. "Do you know how often it rains on Tatooine?"

"Well, once I'd have said never," Han admitted. "But since I discovered you could buy it I had to think again."

"Once every 300 years, on average," Luke said slowly "And only in very specific places. I've never seen it happen." He picked up the vial, rocked it slowly backwards and forwards between his thumb and forefinger. "Rainwater doesn't look like condensed water. It doesn't feel the same. Condensed water is lifeless. Rainwater's... different. It feels alive. Even when it's very old." He put the vial back down, holding Han's gaze. "It feels alive. That's how I know."

"Oh." Han's throat had turned dry all of a sudden, and he couldn't think of a better response. 

"Where did you find it?"

"Here. 226th level. A trader I came across."

"Why?"

Han shifted in his seat, thinking that Luke's question could cover a multitude of scenarios, all of them as absurd as each other. "Um... I guess I heard about it from somewhere. How it's kinda special..."

"All water's valuable on Tatooine," Luke said quietly. "But rainwater's definitely special." He hesitated. "Giving water to someone... on Tatooine... it has a very specific meaning." 

"Yeah," Han said, pinned by the intensity of Luke's gaze. "I knew that." He searched Luke's face, trying – but failing – to gauge his reaction "And just so you know," he added, recklessly, "it's what I want."

That got a reaction he could read. Just the subtlest widening of Luke's eyes. "It's..." Luke started. He took another one of those deep, steadying breaths. "On Tatooine, it's taken seriously."

"I know that too. I'm takin' it seriously."

"Han–"

"You don't need to say anything," Han interrupted. "I don't expect anything and I'm not doing it to put pressure on you. I don't wanna hide things from you, that's all. Some things are best out in the open."

"Yes," Luke said softly, "some things are." He lapsed into silence again, and to Han's mind he looked remarkably calm. Whether that was a good thing or not, Han had no idea, but before he could think any further on that Luke pushed his chair back from the table with seeming decisiveness. "Just give me a few minutes, will you?" 

"Uh... sure." And with that, Luke had upped and gone and Han was left sitting, wondering if, in fact, some things were better kept hidden. Wherever Luke had gone – and it wasn't in the direction of the 'fresher – Han had to ask himself why Luke had needed to leave the table. He could have asked for time to think – hours, days, weeks, forever – and Han would've just agreed. But Luke wasn't a straightforward person, and sometimes he was as difficult to read as it was possible to get.

His musings were cut short by the sudden return of Luke. The server droid who'd attended them earlier followed hard on Luke's heels, bearing a metal tray on which sat a flagon of dark amber liquid and two shot glasses.

Luke slid back into his chair and threw Han a smile that looked like an apology. "I'll deal with it now, thanks," Luke addressed the droid, clearing a small space on the table for the droid to place the flagon and glasses.

Han studied the liquid with bemusement, partly because he didn't recognize it, and partly because he had no idea why Luke had ordered it. It had an odd scent which Han couldn't place, though something about it sparked a touch of familiarity. "What is it?" His voice sounded odd, which Han hadn't intended, but he simply couldn't determine how he felt. Just minutes after he'd given in to an impulsive and probably foolhardy gesture that had laid all that he felt and everything he wanted on the line, they'd ostensibly dropped the subject completely and moved onto something else.

"Loshirr," Luke explained. His eyes were searching Han's face, and Han knew that the strangeness he was feeling was communicating itself to Luke as clearly as if he'd come right out and announced it. 

Luke picked up the flagon, light from the glowlamp catching its multi-faceted surface, sending patterns across the table. "It's a spirit flavored with desert sage. It's about the only herb that grows wild on Tatooine." 

"So that's what it is!" Han stated, suddenly recognizing the aromatic scent. "Kinda smells like Tatooine." 

"I think they put it into everything. It's not like there's much of a choice!" Luke poured a measure of loshirr into each shot glass, but it seemed to Han that Luke's hand was not quite as steady as usual. A couple of drops of amber liquid dripped from the rim of the flagon and spattered onto the table. He felt the familiar flutter of warmth, deep inside, that tiny incidences such as that always brought.

Maybe it was an odd thing, that these small fluctuations in Luke's self-control should provoke such a reaction, but it had been that way for some time for Han. Luke's prosthetic hand was something close to perfection, for what it was, and Luke had almost perfect control of it. But by tomorrow morning Han would have five fingertip-shaped bruises on his left hip as evidence of a much less in control Luke, and every time he glimpsed them, he knew he'd feel that coil of desire. Just the thought of it made Han want to reach across the table, grab Luke and kiss him hard. 

Instead, he pushed the thought aside and reached out a hand for one of the glasses. "So why are we drinking this?" he asked.

Luke pulled the glass from Han's fingers and moved it away. "Not yet," he said. His eyes were back on Han's face. "Before you drink it... I need to know... you said it was what you wanted, but I have to be sure."

So Han had been wrong – they hadn't dropped the subject. "I've already told you–"

"I know!" Luke cut in. "But how do I know that what you think this means is what it really means?"

"You've lost me," Han admitted. He gestured towards the squat vial of rainwater. Next to the flagon of loshirr, the contents had turned pale gold where they'd picked up the deep hue of the spirit. "You want me to tell you what I think this is?"

"I want you to tell me what you think it _means_ ," Luke said.

Han rubbed a hand over his face, because this could be one of two things. Either Luke was hoping Han had misunderstood the symbolism of the water and the intent behind it – or he was hoping Han had got it exactly right. Whichever, he could only find out if he gave Luke an answer. He just hoped the answer was the one Luke was looking for.

"Okay, if you really wanna know – I looked it up in the Coruscant Archives. S'incredible what they've got in that place, though I guess you already know that. You spend enough time in there."

Luke didn't reply, but his quiet smile acknowledged the truth of Han's observation.

"Anyway," Han continued, "I read that it goes back hundreds of years. The tradition, I mean. It doesn't hafta be actual rainwater – that's gotta be impossible for most of the population. It can be any water 'cause, like you said, all water's valuable on Tatooine. But it's gotta be sealed in a special way."

"Like this." Luke's voice was soft as he reached for the vial.

"Yeah, exactly like that." Han agreed. He fell silent, even though he'd not yet said anything specific enough to satisfy Luke. Luke didn't say anything either, but Han knew he was just waiting. Waiting for Han to deal with any remaining ambiguity. 

He stared at the vial, held loosely in Luke's fingers. He'd carried it with him from the moment he'd bought it on Level 226, and he'd tried to pretend that its fate was open. Told himself that he was Han Solo, and this kind of future had never been part of his dreams or expectations. But deep down, he'd known that he'd always intended to give it to Luke, whatever the outcome. 

His eyes still on the vial, watching as Luke twisted it slowly round, he let his breath out slowly. "If you give it to someone it's like making a declaration. It's saying... you want a commitment." He drew another breath. "A life-long commitment." And just in case his answer was still too vague, Han looked up and fastened his gaze to Luke's. "On Corellia we call it a life-bond. On Tatooine..."

"We call it a marriage," Luke finished, quietly.

"Yeah," Han said, his eyes still fixed on Luke's. "So I guess that's what I'm asking for."

The flare of reaction in Luke's eyes was his only immediate response to Han's words, and Han had no idea what to say next. Instead, he let the silence linger, something like emotional exhaustion creeping up on him, taking away his desire to even think.

The sharp snap of breaking metal jerked Han out of his encroaching lethargy, and he watched in confusion as Luke pulled apart the seal on the rainwater's outer vial.

"I don't know how much more you read about in the Archives," Luke said, his fingers gripping the stopper, twisting it carefully. 

"About what, exactly?" Han's eyes followed the stopper as Luke succeeded in pulling it out of the vial. "What are you doing with that?"

Luke gave him an enigmatic smile. "We had a lot of traditions on Tatooine. I didn't see many of them carried out. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru didn't go in for it much. Especially when it involved mixing with other people."

"Kept themselves to themselves, huh?"

"I think it was more about keeping a low profile." Luke gave a small grimace. "I probably wasn't much help to them. Too busy wanting to get off the farm."

"They were never gonna keep you there forever – they must've known that."

"I think they might've tried, given the opportunity." For a brief moment, the shadow of painful memory darkened Luke's expression.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Han said quietly. "What happened to them wasn't your fault."

"I know that now. It's just..."

"You miss them," Han guessed.

"Yeah." Luke smiled again, casting his eyes back down on the opened vial he still held in his hand. "Aunt Beru would've loved this."

"The rainwater?"

"The ritual. Like I said, we didn't go in for them much, but the Darklighters did. They were the sociable ones in our sector. They were always doing something to mark everything Biggs and Dera did."

"From what you said, sounds like they had the money to do it."

Luke looked back up at him, bitter-sweet amusement flickering in his eyes. "That's what Uncle Owen used to say, only he wasn't that polite about it. Aunt Beru used to enjoy going though."

"So your Uncle didn't join in?"

"He wasn't the partying kind." Luke accompanied his words with a soft laugh. "He never tried to stop me and Aunt Beru going, but he _did_ like to grumble about it."

Han stayed silent, allowing Luke his quiet moments of recollection. With no clear idea as to what was going on, he watched as Luke tipped the precious inner vial out of its container and into the palm of his hand.

"It was at Biggs' home where I first learned about the water tradition," Luke said. "And the ways in which it was followed up." With the greatest care, Luke began to ease out the stopper in the rainwater vial. "We'd been invited over for a special occasion. All of Biggs' family and friends were there, including his Uncle Jula. It was a major celebration." He gave the stopper one last twist before withdrawing it from the vial, giving the water its first breath of air in how ever many years it had been sealed away.

There was no discernible scent to it that Han could detect, but it looked to him as though Luke could sense the rainwater's increased presence. Of course, the chase of emotion he saw passing through Luke's eyes could have been down to memories alone.

Luke kept the vial in his hand. "Before we could celebrate though, we had to watch a ceremony. Biggs' Uncle had brought someone with him – Silya." He threw a sudden smile at Han. "Jula and Silya Darklighter are Gavin's parents."

"Huh?" Han said, and then he suddenly recalled who Luke meant. "The kid who keeps asking to join Rogue Squadron?"

Luke nodded. "And one day soon I expect he'll get his way. Once he's worn Wedge's resistance down far enough! He wasn't born back then, of course," Luke continued. "Jula and Silya hadn't been together very long. The celebration was to seal their marriage proposal. I can't remember which one of them gave the gift of water, but they'd asked Biggs to pour it out."

"It gets poured away?"

Luke's lips curved with a wry amusement. "Water on Tatooine never gets poured away. Not until it's been recycled a million times! No, it's poured into glasses. Just a few drops usually." 

Transfixed, Han watched as Luke tipped the vial over each of the glasses of loshirr in turn, letting a couple of drops of the precious rainwater fall into the spirit. "By tradition, if the recipient rejects the water, then their answer is no. But if they offer a share of the water back, then they're making a promise."

"So..." Han started, but his words dried up in his throat, caught as he was by the way Luke was looking at him, and with the startling reality of what they were doing.

"A promise to commit," Luke continued. "Sharing the water seals the promise. On Tatooine..." His words stumbled a little, as though Han's loss of words had transmitted itself from him to Luke. "On Tatooine... it's considered binding." Luke picked up a glass and held it out to Han.

Han took the proffered glass, his eyes never leaving Luke's. "They'll say we're being reckless," he warned, finding his voice.

"They say it already."

"Leia–"

"Won't be surprised," Luke interrupted, though Han hadn't been quite sure where his sentence was going. His relationship with Leia had ended just a few weeks after it had started, completely amicably and with no residual resentment on either side. If there was any worry to be had over Leia's reaction, it was based only on the potential hurt they'd caused in keeping things from her. "We should speak to her as soon as possible though," Luke added.

Han nodded slowly, registering with some amazement how quickly they'd arrived at this point since Han had dumped the tatty package in front of Luke. All Luke had requested was clarity – he wasn't suggesting that Han take time to think, or insisting multiple times that Han examine how certain he really was. 

And Han wasn't questioning Luke either. A year or so back, perhaps he would have done so. Back then, Han would also have been reiterating the stale old mantra that he was Solo by name and solo by nature. His younger self would've been first in the queue to remonstrate with the present day version. _Relationships – fine. Binding commitments – not a chance_. But these days, he was at peace with who he was. He knew what he wanted, he knew why, and he knew it was right. 

He also knew the difference between what he wanted, and what he needed. He both wanted and needed Luke, but he didn't need a formal commitment from him to add meaning to their relationship. That was there already. Nor did he need Luke to prove anything to Han. And he didn't want a commitment in order to tie Luke down, to stifle his independence or curtail his freedom to live his life exactly as he chose. He had no burning need to maintain any traditions, nor did he require – as Luke had suggested – certainty about the future.

It was just something he wanted. He could analyze his motives and stare, baffled, at himself in his 'fresher mirror all he liked, but there'd be no other answer.

As for Luke, Han knew he was trusting his feelings like he always had, and now, just as countless times before, he saw no need to question them. 

Instead, he sat, his eyes holding Han's, waiting for Han to surface from his thoughts, his fingers curled around his shot glass. 

"We've sure done some strange stuff," Han murmured, and lifted his glass. Luke raised his own glass, his lips curving in a smile that said it all. That this was by far the most impulsive thing that either of them had ever done. And everyone else was going to tell them it was the most impulsive thing they'd ever done. But – staying true to character – they were going to do it anyway.

"Just knock it back," Luke said. "It'll help with the taste." His smile widened, then before Han could reply he'd lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed the contents. Han copied him, the full understanding of Luke's comment hitting him at the same time as the loshirr hit the back of his throat.

Downing his glass, Han gasped for air. "Beats me how anyone keeps any traditions on Tatooine if they've gotta drink this stuff!"

With no warning at all – something he looked to be making a habit of – Luke reached across the table and grabbed a fistful of Han's shirt. Pulled him closer and kissed him hard. Han kissed him back. Luke was all fiery loshirr and amazement. Change and risk and unknown futures. He was everything Han knew and everything he didn't know, but Han had the rest of his life to learn about that.

When Luke released him, Han gave a short, breathless laugh. "I think you've gone and beaten Madine to it," he said. 

"What?"

"Look behind you."

Luke turned around to follow Han's gaze. Wedge Antilles and a large group of pilots were just taking possession of a table directly in line with the once-secluded corner where Han and Luke were sitting. Only Wedge wasn't in the process of sitting down. He was standing, arms folded, staring back at them both with a wide grin on his face.

Luke turned back to Han, the answering grin he'd given Wedge still on his face. "I think you're right."

"And it's gonna be a long night. No way any of that lot are gonna let us walk outta here without a full explanation."

"Then I guess we'd better join them." Luke started to gather their things together, starting with the vial of remaining rainwater.

"I guess so." Han looked around for the server droid and pointed to the larger table, letting it know they were moving across.

"Just before we go," Luke said, "I do have one more question."

"Oh yeah?" 

"General Madine's drop-off plans... what exactly are they, anyway?"

Han quirked a grin. "Damned if I know. I wasn't listening."

~end~


End file.
